


A Little Bit of This Town Goes a Very Long Way

by madame_le_maire



Category: Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Concussions, First Time, Gay Bar, Gratuitous Swearing, Harmony Knows Best, M/M, Perry is an unreliable narrator too, Pining, Real Kissing, fake kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-03 13:19:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14569872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_le_maire/pseuds/madame_le_maire
Summary: Not long after Christmas, Harmony and Harry find work in a magic show and move to Las Vegas. Maybe Perry should feel happy to be rid of them, but he can’t help but think that it’d all just been too fucking nice to last.So when he gets an opportunity to work on a case in Vegas, Perry takes it. For completely valid reasons. Not because he misses Harry or some kind of bullshit. Not at all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [generalsnarker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/generalsnarker/gifts).



> Happy to finally post something for this fandom, hope y'all enjoy! Title from Hunter S. Thompson's _Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas._
> 
> Shout-out to Vejiicakes for spitballing, huge thanks to Cinaed for being an awesome beta. Special thanks to Susi, who started it all -- for your support and endless patience. Couldn't have done it without you, boo.

Perry never thought he’d mind Harry leaving – right up until he does. Oh sure, he’s not fucking heartbroken, but he’s not as ecstatic as he might have expected. This had never meant to be a permanent solution, after all. Perry had only let Harry move in because he has the saddest fucking puppy eyes in history, combined with a masterful delivery of seemingly innocent jabs about how “not being a punk is sort of hard without a home and job and all that” and how there was nothing left for him back east. To make things worse, Harry probably hadn’t intended to talk Perry into anything, because Harry’s a fucking idiot who couldn’t consciously manipulate anybody to save his life. Least of all Perry.

Of course, he could’ve said “fuck it” and put Harry on a plane to wherever or pushed him off on Harmony. Unfortunately, Perry has ended up with a couple of people who actually know he cares, which makes pretending not to basically impossible. Shit, you don’t take bullets and fly to goddamn Indiana for anybody. Even he’ll admit that.

So Perry had let Harry into his life, first strictly in a “if you break anything in the guestroom I’ll end you” capacity. It takes him only a few weeks to crack and take him along on a case. They don’t work together all that badly. Sure, Harry zones out too much and sometimes he does really, really stupid things that are the opposite of helpful, but he’s got his moments of good instincts and nimbleness. Besides, people trust Harry, despite his markedly untrustworthy past. It’s pretty useful. ~~~~

For a while he’d thought Harry might want to move in with Harmony when they finally get their shit together and talk it out. But so it happens they do just that – and he’d hesitate to even call it a break-up. All he knows is they’re both a little heartbroken about it, in their own ways. Harry spends so long sitting in the living room and staring at the wall that it starts creeping Perry out, because when the fuck is Harry ever that quiet? Perry ends up lets him file the latest big case and of course he has to redo the whole thing afterwards, but at least Harry looks a little less like dying. Harmony, for her part, calls him late at night once and never mentions Harry, rants about L.A. dating instead, in a slightly clipped tone he knows means she’s on the verge of tears, and he says fuck it, puts away his work and joins in. What? It’s cathartic. Perry feels a little weird about how he fits into this tense situation, but then it takes Harry and Harmony just about a week to start finishing each other’s sentences again. He guesses they’re made to fit, in one way or another.

It’s not the same with him and Harry. They’re all jagged edges, it’s just that they fit a little better than he’d have expected. Sure, Perry’s annoyed, by Harry with his shoes on the couch, his crumbs all over the place, Harry just… existing, in this space that Perry crafted to be his own for years. And yet, it’s shaking out. Harry might still think he’s straight, capitalized and trademarked, but he’s fine around Perry these days. Like when he says, “It wasn’t even the gay thing” while they’re on a stake-out one day.

Perry stares at him, hard.

“Okay, it was totally the gay thing. But I’m over that. It’s just, you’re really bad at kissing.”

“I…wasn’t trying to _impress_ you, Harry.”

“See!” Harry stabs at him with his finger. “That’s exactly what I mean. Bound to hurt a guy’s feelings.”

“Chief, you do realize how that sounds, right?”

“…no?”

Right. Let Harry come to his own conclusions. Point is, he’s lost his latent homophobia. Perry’s learned to deal with all kinds of people, but it’s still nice to be with somebody who’s genuinely alright with him. He could get used to that. Pity he doesn’t get to.

Thing is, did he seriously expect Harry to play his detecting sidekick forever? Not really. Not consciously, at least. But did he seriously expect Harry to just up and leave? Not really, either.

But he does. Because one day Harmony marches into his house when they’re having breakfast and announces a new job. As a magician’s assistant in a show in Vegas.

Harmony and Harry have a field day talking about their childhood, recounting all the magic tricks Harry used to be able to do and maintains he’d be able to remember and oh boy, does Perry have a feeling about this. So he can’t say he’s surprised when Harmony gets Harry an audition at the same place a few days later. He _is_ a little surprised when Harry nails it, though. And then that’s it.

Harry and Harmony are moving to Vegas.

***

“Breaking poor old Gossamer’s heart,” Perry snorts, smoothing out the morning copy of the Los Angeles Times where Harry had scrunched it up when he was bringing it in. Opposite of him, Harmony shrugs, thumbing at a stack of housing ads.

“Christmas put a bit of a dampener on that, anyway.”

“Didn’t even stop the damn bullet,” Harry mutters, neatly and most importantly unprompted stacking the dishes and carrying them into the kitchen. Perry frowns, because it’s not like Harry to volunteer to clean up anything. He also bites his tongue and lets him, because if Harry shows any sign of positive development, it’s time to support it. Harmony deserves being left with a well-behaved roommate. Or well. Maybe a better behaved one. He’ll see how badly he’ll regret it.

“Maybe it’s time to try a new angle at the whole fame and fortune thing.” Harmony chews on a sharpie. “And it’s only for one season, anyway. For now. We’ll see.”

“Six weeks in the Nevada sunshine and all that.”

“Well, hope it’ll be a bit longer.” She narrows her eyes. “Thought you hated noir.”

He shrugs. “Genre-savviness comes in handy sometimes.”

“That’s far too obscure a movie to quote for that, I’m _onto_ you. Hey.” She holds up the housing ad she’s been frowning at for the last couple of minutes. “How about this one?”

“Forget it.”

“Ha!” She points her sharpie at him. “Convince me”

“Alright.” He folds over his newspaper and sets it down. “Really want to have your bedroom right next to Harry’s? In a cramped apartment with paper-thin walls, no less?”

Harmony’s face falls a little.

“I wouldn’t have thought he had enough game.”

“He doesn’t. But he’s never going to let you live it down if you do.”

She snorts.

“What? I mean it.” He lowers his voice. “He’s so rude in the morning, I can never fuck anybody twice. How many acceptable options do you think that leaves me with, these days? So I’d reconsider that one.”

She frowns at the ad, then groans and pushes it over to the discarded pile.

Just like on command, there is a crash from the kitchen, followed by a streak of violent swearing. Perry takes a long breath in and a long breath out.

“Wow. I’m taking a bullet for you.” Harmony shakes her head and then grins. “Guess you know what to do with the upcoming peace and quiet?”

“To the T,” Perry sighs.

There is another crash. He takes another breath. And starts sifting through his mental rolodex of “stuff to yell at Harry when he fucks shit up again.” It’s a big collection. Lots of variety. Swearword amount and placement completely customizable to the situation. ~~~~

***

“Okay, what is it?”

Harry puts whatever he was fiddling with back onto the shelf, looking guilty. He’s been spending hours darting around the place, snatching up stuff that belongs to him in the most unlikely of places, including Perry’s office. In fact, he’s been spending a suspicious amount of time in Perry’s office.

Perry closes his folder with a snap.

“You don’t own enough shit in total, let alone have it all in here. Spill it and let me get back to work.”

Harry takes a deep breath.

“Do you mind?”

“Mind…what, exactly?”

“That I’m leaving. Because I mean, figured you’d be glad to get rid of me, but it’s always us these days, right? Harry and Perry. Like, I’m your partner now. So I didn’t think you’d miss me, but I do all your photocopies and I’m pretty good at them, too, I just haven’t had a real job in, well, maybe never, so-“

“Harry.”

Harry actually does shut up for once.

“You’re spot on. I’m pissed. In fact, I’m going to sue you because you haven’t given me proper notice.”

Perry watches Harry’s face turn more and more confused and sighs.

“God, don’t be stupid. I don’t care. Go out, do some magic. Whatever.”

Harry visibly relaxes. Like he was worried for real.

“You’re not going to make fun of me? I don’t trust this.”

“Oh, I will, once they get you into the make-up and sequins.”

Harry frowns.

“That wasn’t in the contract. And why do you think that’d bother me anyway? Because I’m straight?”

“Chief, I’m still pretty sure you’re about as straight as spaghetti.” 

Harry frowns harder.

“So…really straight?”

Perry sighs. “Okay. Fuck off and don’t forget to finish off the peanut butter, because I’m not eating that shit after you’re gone.”

Harry grins at him and wanders out of the office. Things are sort of right again. As right as they can be with Harry leaving soon, anyway.

Perry might have planned to be busy when that happens, so he doesn’t have to be there for all that corny goodbye-kissing bullshit. Thankfully Harmony isn’t into any of that either, just gives him a wave from the car. He’s already promised to put the fear of God in her tenants every now and then. But then Harry comes out of the house and fuck. He’s trying his hardest to tell himself that Harry’s just some idiot who’s been crashing in his guest room for a while, but all of that collapses in on itself when Harry’s standing in front of him, clutching the one moving box that fits all his stuff to his chest - and Perry realizes he doesn’t know what he could possibly say to him now. Everything that happened, everything they are (and when did they become anything in the first place?) is just so far beyond fucking normal.

So he limits himself to patting Harry on the shoulder and heads back inside, so he doesn’t have to watch them disappear into the proverbial goddamn sunset, because there’s no point in dwelling on anything ever, make no mistake about that. And if it’s a bit of a crap move and probably a lot more telling than anything he could have said instead, then well, that’s the kind of shit Harry does to you. Messes everything up and disappears.

Harry will be fine. It’s what he does. Keeps on moving to the next shiniest thing. He stumbled into L.A. unwittingly and now he’s stumbling away, hopefully slightly less unwittingly.

So that’s that and well, it might to do Perry good to remember he had a life before the universe chose to drop Harry Lockhart on his head. The trickle of boring cases is no different than it was before, though it’s disconcerting how smooth things go now that Harry isn’t there to keep stapling the wrong pages together – and how much more boring without Harry firing off a dozen ludicrous suggestions to every problem until he hits one that will inexplicably set them on the right trail. It’s also disconcerting to notice himself losing years of habit, how a few months of living with Harry have made him forget what it’s like to be alone. He starts putting on the TV while he cooks dinner, just to have something to swear at.

He still has Harmony, because Harmony won’t let him disappear on her. She calls him straight from the doorstep and proceeds to detail every scuff that was photoshopped out of the ad pictures and complain about their obnoxious Republican neighbors. Perry takes to putting her on loudspeaker while he’s on stake-outs (those are a lot more boring these days, too). Harmony tells him about moving, then about rehearsals, then about performing. At some point she has apparently decided he’s her best friend and he’s…he’s fine with it. It’s a lot easier being friends with her than with Harry. ~~~~

Harry, with whom he barely speaks over the next few months. It’s not on purpose. Not exactly. It’s just that he doesn’t quite know what to say to Harry that would warrant calling and Harry’s phone is always somewhere he can’t find it anyway. Sure, he shouts things just out of earshot when Perry’s talking to Harmony, and sometimes Harmony tells Perry about him too, how Harry messes up their laundry and steals all her yogurts, how he’s doing pretty good with the performing. Perry feels relieved to hear that last one and swats at the feeling like at an annoying fly. He’s just happy Harry hasn’t been killed in some gruesome stage accident yet. Come on, it’s Harry. The fear is not unfounded at all.

But they never talk. And why would they? All the cases they’d worked on together are long closed and everything else is too goddamn mundane. What the fuck is he supposed to say?

_Hey Harry, I finally found that second jar of peanut butter you bought before you left, you fucker._

_Hey Harry, that plant in my office you always tried to move somewhere else died, guess you were right about the sunlight._

_Hey Harry, maybe I should’ve asked you if you wanted me to ship that shirt you forgot before I threw it out, but then it’s ugly and you never wore it anyway._

Some type of domestic bullshit. It’s over.

***

August comes around and business is slow. Perry takes a couple of dull jobs, debates various aspects of Nevada and California politics with Harmony while he spends hours sitting in his car, monitoring the comings and goings of some mansion in the Hills. All is taking its usual boring course until he gets a client from out of town.

He doesn’t take these much these days, unless the pay is particularly good, but he does get out of town sometimes.  Especially when he has nothing much to do otherwise. The situation is nothing that would warrant hiring him in particular. Prospective client owns a nightclub, thinks one of her employees is doing shady business with another place that’s been getting suspiciously loaded lately. Where Perry comes in is apparently this warrants an outside look. Might seem a little paranoid, but nightlife businesses can be entwined, the competition ugly, he gets it. Especially in Las Vegas. 

Perry is sure if he had the sort of friend who gives mean, snappy advice, they would call him an idiot for considering it even for one second. But well, he doesn’t. Harmony’s too nice and besides she’s biased as hell; he just knows she’d lose her shit about this. He spends a few days flipping through the file the client left with him. The parameters are fine. The pay is fine. One of Dabney’s cushiony consulting jobs would probably pay more. Not much speaking against it, not much in favor either. Except Harmony and Harry and fuck, that smacks too much of misplaced nostalgia, like clinging to the opportunity will undo anything. Even if Vegas doesn’t last for them, they’re moving on. Meanwhile he’s only looking back over his shoulder in a way he has never ever allowed himself to, because it’s always a damn bad idea.

But it’s late at night and the house is so goddamn empty and there’s his fucking peace and quiet. And he remembers Harry, right here, messing up the color coding on his filing system because he thought the _colors_ didn’t make _sense_ , for fuck’s sake.

In the end, he strikes it up to being sick to death of Hollywood. Vegas can only be worse. Maybe he’ll appreciate L.A. more when he gets back.

***

As predicted, Harmony spends a solid five minutes shrieking right into the phone and begs him to come see their show and Perry sighs and swaps his plane ticket for one a day earlier, paying the difference himself because he’s sure that “making time for your weird friends” doesn’t count as job-related expenses.

His phone pings with a message as he’s getting off the plane. _Sorry, rehearsals hell, Harry’s picking you up_ , writes Harmony and that leaves him standing in the middle of the hallway for a while. Why would he need picking up in the first place, for God’s sake? Especially by Harry. For the first time, it occurs to him that Harry hasn’t exactly been reaching out to him either and Christ, he might be mad. Which is weirdly concerning, even if it’s probably just Harry being Harry, unable to focus on anything that isn’t right in front of him, or sometimes not even that.

Well, at least he got a warning before running into Harry holding up a sign with his name or some shit.

That fear turns out unfounded, because Harry is not standing at the gate. Not even off the side. Turns out Harry’s sitting on a bench next to the nearest exit, where Perry has made his way after deciding he was not going to spend ages running around the place trying to find him, fuck that. Harry doesn’t notice him approaching and Perry stops in front of him, waits. Harry keeps reading. Sad thing is he’s probably not even fucking with him on purpose.

“Why do I feel like I’m the one picking you up?”

Harry lifts his head and just _lights_ up. No other way to describe it. Broad grin, eyes sparkling. Okay. Mad looks different. At least there’s that. 

“You sort of are. Harmony dropped me off and I don’t have a ride. Don’t think I’ve even got enough money for a cab.”

Perry rolls his eyes. “God, I feel right at home. Let’s go.”

Harry closes his book. Perry would be almost impressed, except it’s Dan fucking Brown and Harry’s using a candy bar wrapper as a bookmark.

Perry rents a car, drives Harry to the theater where they work. Harry’s babbling like he’s trying to make up for the months they haven’t seen each other. It’s like nothing has changed, except Harry’s nervous for some reason, fidgety. Perry gets ready to scold him when he starts fiddling with a cigarette, but Harry doesn’t even light it, destroys it in his fingers instead, the filling crumbling everywhere. Usually Perry would scold him for that too, but something prompts him to keep quiet. Maybe because if he asks, Harry _will_ tell him why. In great detail. And he’s not sure if he’s already up for the full Harry Lockhart experience again.

***

The venue is small and nowhere near central. Harry disappears somewhere backstage as soon as they arrive. Perry takes in the surroundings. They’ve clearly got too small a budget to still look good and are trying too hard to make up for that to be properly artsy. Not that Perry had expected Harry and Harmony to be in anything of actual quality, because, well… it’s Harry and Harmony. 

Harry comes back, hair done differently, wearing a silver sequined suit jacket. Perry has to laugh so hard he almost chokes.

“Hey!” Harry scowls at him. “Just so you know, I chose this myself, because everything else was a lot worse.”

“Okay, this right here?” Perry breaks off into laughter again. “Gayest thing _you’ve_ ever done.”

“Damn, I’d start talking shit about your wardrobe, but hey, I’ve got an actual job to do. Go find your shitty seat.” Harry thrusts a ticket at him, grins. Perry finds himself grinning back.

“Yeah, go break whatever you’re supposed to break. I’m not picky.”

Perry makes bets with himself on how bad this can possibly get. As it turns out, it’s…alright. Okay, shit, it’s a phony Vegas show, any positive assessment is in desperate need of about a thousand qualifiers. But well, there aren’t any complete disasters. Harry is opening the show and he has the messiest routine Perry’s ever seen, it barely makes sense. He’s babbling out random stories, punctuated by complicated coin tricks he does one-handed, but he’s not bad at tapping into the audience’s energy, somehow. Yeah, Perry can see how Harry hasn’t been fired yet. He can even sort of see what Dabney saw in him (though he still thinks Harry can’t act for shit). Harmony’s job consists of about one third assisting and two thirds standing there and looking pretty, which she’s doing admirably well considering that’s not something she’s ever been about, 18 years of Hollywood or not. So of course she stares out into the audience until she finds him and winks and he can see her lip twitch when he rolls his eyes.

She walks out into the foyer right in her costume when the show’s over, losing pieces of tinsel along the way.

“Look at you, it’s like a Christmas ornament strip-tease.”

“Fuck you, I’m _dying,_ ” she pants, grinning, and pulls him into a hug, “Good to see you, come on!”

Her dressing room is a mess, clothes strewn everywhere, and there’s Harry sitting perched up on her dressing table. He’s lost the jacket and changed into a shirt, sweat still gleaming along his brow, sipping on a beer. Harmony kicks off her shoes and steps right out of her dress. Harry doesn’t even blink. To be fair, she’ll get naked in front of much anyone. Perry supposes even for a straight guy it’d get old pretty quickly.

“So?” Harry asks, grinning, basically bouncing, “was this the best magic show you’ve ever seen or what?”

“Harry, how many magic shows do you think I have seen?”

“Enough to say that we were the best?”

“Ugh, Harry, fuck off.” Harmony’s finished changing and shoves Harry off the table, gets out a box of makeup wipes, pulls a face. “My skin’s gonna peel off one of these days. All in one go, like in that weird horror movie I didn’t get cast in.”

“Cold cream’s better,” Perry offers. Harry snorts into his beer.

“Nope, fuck off with the sequins, you’re still the gayest guy in the room.”

“Oh, the jacket?” Harmony smirks. “This is nothing, you should see-“

Harry tackles her, actually trying to hold her mouth shut with his hand, and God, they’ve never reminded him of siblings more. Harmony just laughs, steals Harry’s beer and chugs half the bottle while he’s trying to get it back.

“You two coming?” A woman sticks her head in the door, he recognizes her from the show. She throws him a look. Shrugs. “Or three, whatever.”

“Sure, Jo, give us a moment.” Harmony sets down the beer, starts clearing off the table. “We’re going for drinks, wanna join?”

Perry shakes his head.

“Meeting with the client in the morning.”

Harry grins, pulls on a hoodie, weird shade of lavender Perry’s never seen him wear before.

“Real professional.”

“Not an overpriced bastard for nothing, chief.”

So Harry and Harmony go out to have fun and he drives back to the hotel, absentmindedly following the GPS, while he stares into the never-ending erratic sparkles of Las Vegas, thinking of Harry, sweaty and grinning, right side of his face flecked with glitter that came off of Harmony’s make-up, smeared up his cheekbone, disappearing into his hair. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“What’s so weird about having a regular bar though?” Harmony asks from behind her coffee cup.

Perry’s missed their breakfast get-togethers, so he’s glad of the first chance to revive the tradition, even just in Harry’s and Harmony’s tiny apartment. Though he’d probably enjoy it more if it wasn’t after almost a week of working late nights. And if he wasn’t being forced to talk about it, too. But well, no excuses fly when Harmony wants to discuss something.  

“Nothing, but there’s a specific pattern in how he goes there, like clockwork. I can see why his boss would be suspicious, though I doubt it’s what she’s thinking. They’re very different places, size, clientele, everything. That one’s a big high-end nightclub. This is a medium-sized gay bar.”

Harry snorts into his cereal.

“What’s the pattern?” Harmony asks.

“He’s in and out of the place in 20 minutes every time. Always alone. Definitely doesn’t feel like a personal thing. Which I don’t fucking know, because I can’t get into the place.” Perry grits his teeth.

“What- _you’re_ not getting into a gay bar?” Harry throws him an incredulous look.

“They have a strict policy for this kind of shit place and I don’t have time to cozy up to the bouncers for days.”

“Wow. Better not let anybody in L.A. hear that,” Harmony says and winks. “Mess up your gay cred.”

“Yeah, very funny.” Perry massages his temples. Harmony stands up to make more coffee.

Harry hums around his spoon. “Wait, what’s that called?”

“What, the bar? Blue Phoenix.”

“That the one with the neon blue sign and shit? I’ve been there.”

Perry stares at him.

“I mean, we go there. The company. After shows. Right, Harmony?”

“Hm, what?” Harmony sticks her head out of the kitchen, shrugs. “Yeah, it’s the closest decent place to work. Used to be a bit of a dive, I’ve heard, but it’s a lot nicer now.”

“Well, that’s what’s so suspicious in the first place.” Perry snorts. “Also I’m sure they’re absolutely thrilled about the invading packs of straight people.”

“You’re assuming there are enough straight people in our show to make up packs, plural,” Harmony retorts, “You‘re wrong. Not a bad idea though, Harry.”

“Yeah, I just thought, we could get you in no problem, right? Hey,” Harry perks up. “it’ll be another case for us!”

“No.”

“All three, like old times.”

“God, no.”

Harmony snorts. “Fat chance. First weekend off in ages, I’m driving out to Summerlin South to marathon Desperate Housewives. Sorry, guys.”

“ _Good_. Here’s the plan. You get me in. The actual work, we’re leaving to me.”

“Alright.” Harry shrugs, then frowns. “Hey, why wasn’t I invited?”

Harmony groans. “Harry, you’re working tonight _and_ you don’t even watch the show. Go stretch your detective muscles.”

“Not on my watch,” Perry butts in and Harry grins.

“You just don’t want me back on the pay roll.”

“God, I already feel like you were never off.”

***

Perry drives up to the theater as the performance finishes; Harry’s already waiting outside.

“Dressed like that, really?” he asks as Harry’s getting in the car.

Harry looks down at his usual washed out jeans and shrugs.

“I’m a nightlife entertainer off the clock. I’m allowed to look messy.”

“You know, I’ve never had the impression you care if you’re allowed, you just _do.”_

“I mean…is it really bad?”

“What?”

“How I look.”

Harry’s serious. Perry shakes his head.

“Shit, I don’t actually care. Whatever. You’re fine.” Harry still looks sort of dejected, so Perry adds, “Hair’s not bad.”

It’s still done from stage, tousled in a way Perry suspects Harry would have no idea how to recreate himself. Harry touches it self-consciously, shrugs.

“Yeah, that’s alright. I hate the makeup though. Feels weird. Hard to get off.” Harry glances up at him, alarmed. “Oh no, don’t-“

“Told you so.”

“Goddammit.”

“Cold cream, chief. It works.”

***

They arrive at the bar early, almost an hour before the target, but Perry would have to lie if he’s not at least a bit doubtful of Harry’s ability to get them in. The security guy’s stony face betrays the slightest hint of dismay at the sight of them and yeah, if that isn’t irrefutable proof Harry has been here before. They get waved through, at any rate.

It’s not a bad place. Not too classy, not too run down. It reminds Perry of bars he hasn’t been to in about 10 years. Music is terrible, though, Top 40 on a loop at earsplitting volume. Well. At least that means they can talk and be more or less unobserved and Harry won’t ruin everything by saying something very incriminating way too loudly (again).

They walk over to the bar; Perry glances over the menu, orders on random. Harry starts chatting to the bartender and Perry turns to watch the crowd. There is something nice about the freedom in operating in another city. Sure, he can’t rely on clout, but he also gets to do jobs like this himself, which is basically impossible in L.A. these days. He hires people for the hands-on stuff, though he goes through them fairly quickly before they can become recognizable. Even Harry only did a couple of on-site jobs before Perry pulled him back to office work (Harry may be conveniently likable, but he's also very inconveniently memorable).

It’s kind of bizarre to imagine Harry just…hanging out here, on the regular. Sure, he’s gotten better about the gay stuff, but it’s not like he was ever interested in learning more, when it came to people who weren’t Perry. Well, Perry doesn’t disapprove. Expanding horizons and all that.

Harry comes over, hands Perry his whiskey soda. His own drink is an alarming shade of purple. Perry raises his eyebrows at him.

“Shut up, this is great.”

“I bet. The fuck took them so long to pour whisky in a glass?”

Harry shrugs, chewing on his straw.

“They’re always pretty slow, yeah.”

“Even weirder how they make so much money so quickly.”

“They stretch out the drinks to hell and back too.” Harry lifts his own glass.

Perry takes a sip of his own for propriety’s sake. Considers.

“True. That’s expensive stuff they start out with, though. Too expensive for this kind of place.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the target enter, finally. He sets his glass back down. “There he is. Don’t stare.”

Harry does anyway. Perry rolls his eyes.

“Oh, shit. There’s some serious bias against people with normal hair colors in your case history.”

“Of course there is, I give out fucking discounts for targets that are easy to spot in crowds.”

“Those differ by color, too?”

The target, hair dyed bright blue, makes his way through the crowd, comes up at the other end of the bar to their right.

“Yes. Descending order, down the whole goddamn rainbow. Harry, baby, shut up and stop moving for a second.” Perry grabs Harry and turns him so they’re facing each other, giving him a clear view of the target over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry grins.

“Forward.”

Target is talking to the bartender. It’s not a great angle for lip reading.

“Gay bar, Harry. Do you really want me to leave room for goddamn Jesus right now?”

“I mean, for a first date and all.”

Ah yes. That part where Harry loves making up cover stories, even when they don’t technically need them. At some point Perry just started to humor him. Somewhere around the same time when Harry’s blathering became entertaining rather than annoying.

“Think that’s first date material, right here?”

Harry shrugs.

“Why not? You’re just like, a foot too close for that.”

The guy turns away further. Perry sighs.

“Maybe it’s that kind of first date where I’ve already fucked you, how about that?”

Harry chokes on his drink.

“Right. So don’t make assumptions about gay dating, chief, you obviously don’t know how it works. Weird, considering you’ve been going here for a while.”

“Not like I just go and talk to strangers about that kind of shit,” Harry mutters.

Perry finds it hard to believe Harry hasn’t been hit on a least a few times and he’s about to say so, when the target makes a move. Well. It might be good he doesn’t get to.

“Okay, he’s going towards the bathroom.” Perry glances at his watch. “20 minutes left on his usual schedule. Either my client is getting her money’s worth, or the guy just very dedicated to his gloryhole schedule, about to find out.”

“And…what do I do?”

“You finish your overpriced fruit juice.”

Harry brings out the puppy eyes. Perry sighs.

“Okay. Fine. Follow me, then. Try to look casual about it.”

Apparently Harry thinks it’s a good move to take his arm. Perry raises his brows at him.

“Forward,” he echoes.

Harry shrugs. “Seeing as you’ve already fucked me.”

Perry snorts. And thinks that he doesn’t know if he can take hearing something like this from Harry ever again.

***

Things get interesting right away, because the target strides right past the bathroom, deeper into the dimly lit hallway behind.

Perry follows him cautiously, pulling Harry with him. Harry’s hand has slipped lower down his arm, they’re practically holding hands now. Well. If anything, at least he won’t lose Harry. Harry kind of has a knack for that.

They walk past a few couples getting busy in the dark. Just making out, thankfully. Harry might have been stopped being so damn homophobic, but Perry’s not sure his straight virgin eyes could take anything more explicit than that. Well. If they haven't already, as familiar with the place as he is.

Slowly, the hallway becomes deserted. Then there’s a turn and a door, _Staff Only_ , that still hasn’t fallen quite closed. They share a look. Perry catches the door and pushes it back open, peers inside. There’s more empty hallway behind. They slip inside; Perry holds the door for Harry and closes it quietly. It takes a few feet to start hearing the voices. They must be coming from around another corner or a room and Perry thinks he might have to get a little closer to be able to record anything usable. He pulls Harry with him further. And suddenly, there are steps, coming closer, getting louder, and they are a little too far from the door to make it in time.

Harry throws him a searching look, and then his eyes light up like he has an idea. He grabs the front of Perry’s shirt, leans up and Perry gets it and he doesn’t have time to decide between thinking “good, solid idea” and “oh God, _no_ ” before Harry’s lips crush against his.

Harry’s kissing him for real. As real as it gets, at least. Harry was right, Perry had just slammed his face into Harry’s back in L.A., but shit, he’d barely known him and also he’d sort of hated him. Well, shit. It _is_ a good idea. Plus, they’re not trying to fool some bigoted cops. This is, well. The real deal. There is quite a bit more involvement required from somebody who’s sneaked off that far to do this, so he spins them around and pushes Harry up against the wall. Harry makes a sound; Perry would worry he was a little too rough, if Harry’s grip on Perry’s shoulders wasn’t so gentle.

Somebody walks past them, not giving them any mind. Maybe he should have thought that’s weird, but the conversation has moved to the end of the hallway now, perfectly audible, and he perks up. And Harry tastes like raspberries and vodka, so there’s that. Perry’s great at multitasking. He can listen in, kiss Harry and also try very hard to pretend like he’s not freaked out by kissing Harry, all at the same time. Easily. He can even notice how Harry smells of strong hair product and chalky stage smoke, so unlike himself, and how it’s weird that he knows what Harry smells like in the first place.

Harry licks into his mouth, a little more enthusiastically than the situation calls for, and Perry tugs at his hair, hopefully hard enough to communicate a non-verbal “stop this bullshit.” The way Harry sucks in a breath and the way his fingers involuntarily tighten on Perry’s shoulders is far from genuine pain and Perry eases off because okay, that’s a little awkward. He doesn’t know when this situation became otherwise not awkward, but he never signed up to know what makes Harry make that kind of sound and they…they need to be fine after this.

The conversation taters off. By the sound of the steps, they went deeper into the building. Perry tears away to glance after them; they’ve already gone too far. When he turns back, Harry looks lost in thought, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“So what now?”

“We’re getting the fuck outta here, that’s what.” Even if his client’s business tanking is probably her own fault, she did put them on a path to something legit. Something legit Perry isn’t going to go out of his way to stick his nose into. Pun intended.

“Why?

“Didn’t you hear anything they said?”

“Um…not really?”

Of course not.

“Drugs, Harry. Dealing of.”

“Oh.”

Perry sighs and heads back towards the exit.

“You can’t tell me you’ve been going here for months and haven’t noticed. It seems like a big operation.”

“I mean, it’s not like they give out baggies of whatever it is with the drinks, so…no?”

“Coke. Christ, it’s like you haven’t learned anything. I mean, of course you haven’t, what am I saying.”

“Hey, that’s not true.”

“Is that so.”

Harry grins. “I make some mean photocopies now. Administration loves me.”

Perry snorts. Pushes open the door. And gets punched in the face.

Things sort of go downhill from there.

***

“Well, well,” drawls some guys in a suit, probably the manager, while one of the bouncers twists Perry’s arms behind his back. “We’ve got a lot of people interested in this place, but you are the first cops, believe it or not.”

Harry, similarly secured, opens his mouth and Perry shoots him a warning glance. Let them think what they want. There are a couple of rifles trained on them, it’s not the best time to get chatty.

“He is gay, if that helps,” Harry mutters instead and Perry rolls his eyes.

The manager just laughs at that, waves dismissively. “Come on, lock them up and get back to the door, can’t let that line get too long.”

So they’re shoved down into the basement. Harry’s stumbling down the stairs in front of him. Perry can feel the bouncers behind him poking a rifle into his back. Jesus. Dismissive or not, they’re not actually fucking around. He hopes that’ll be it when they get down, but suddenly the room is flooded with a lot more people and his arms are still twisted behind his back while somebody else decks him in the face repeatedly and yeah, it’s…not fun. He’s not exactly all there for when they push him around and obviously cuff him. He can barely hear the door fall close over the ringing in his ears.

It takes him a couple of moments to come back to himself properly. They’re alone. Perry finds he’s tied to a chair, arms secured behind his back. He blinks, catalogues the throb of an upcoming black eye, the weird swimming sensation in his head. Recites his SSN in his head, then backwards for good measure. It comes out about right. At least there’s that – it’s bad enough otherwise. There’s the tell-tale sting of a laceration at his eyebrow; nose feels a bit tender and is definitely bleeding, at least it doesn’t seem to be broken. He still winces when he tries to wipe it on his shoulder. Well, on the whole, he’s had worse; still sucks. Perry refuses to think that he deserves it, because sure, he could’ve paid closer attention, but he feels _fucked_ and he doesn’t hate himself enough for the blame game now.

To make everything worse, Perry can still feel the floor vibrating with the same damn music from upstairs. Insult to fucking injury, alright.

Harry groans behind him. Seems like they’re tied up back to back.

“You okay, chief?”

“Sure. Just didn’t miss…getting the shit beaten outta me.”

“Weird, thought that was right up your alley.” Perry sighs. “Look, I’m sorry. You didn’t have to be here.”

“Eh, I mean, I wanted to. And I’m not getting my balls fried off, so that’s nice.”

“You’re being awfully optimistic. Who knows what’s going to happen when they come back.”

“I mean…it’s a gay place. I don’t think they do homophobic torture.”

“That music is homophobic torture. So there’s not much else I’d put past them.”

He tries moving his arms, realizes that his cuffs must’ve been hooked together with Harry’s. Well, that sure complicates things.

“Sooo… you’ve got a plan?”

“Harry, I’m flattered, but contrary to your misplaced hero worship…thing, I don’t have the perfect plan for every situation. We couldn’t punch our way out of this, they _were_ serious enough to shoot us on the spot if we made too much trouble, but not serious enough to do it immediately otherwise, I figure they’ll want to interrogate us later. Plus, they’re too understaffed to actually keep somebody with us the whole time and whatever way we try to get out of this, it will probably work a ton better if we’re alone for it. Got it?”

“Got it. So….we don’t have a plan.”

“Not a solid one, no. I guess ‘not being tied together’ would be step one for just about everything else, though.”

“Okay,” Harry considers. And then yanks on the chain between them, hard. The cuff digs into the bone of Perry’s wrist.

“Ow, shit, what the _fuck_?”

“I’m trying to get out of the cuffs.”

“How about some goddamn communication? We’re tied together, for fuck’s sake. Talk first, do second.”

“I’m…trying to get out of the cuffs?”

“Jesus- _How_?”

He can feel Harry shrug.

“Right one feels sorta loose, don’t think it’s done up right. Thought I could just…slip out?”

“By pulling against my hand.”

“…yes?”

Perry sighs.

“Go ahead.”

“…really?”

“Don’t see any other option.”

Harry starts pulling at his cuff. Perry can tell he’s trying to compensate with his own hand, but the pull still makes Perry’s cuff dig deeper into his wrist. He clenches his teeth.

“Harry, if you manage to break my fucking wrist, I swear to God-“

“Yeah, okay, _okay_.”

There’s more pulling and clanging, the chain goes taut. Then Harry yelps, and then the chain relaxes all of the sudden.

“Oh fuck,” Harry whimpers.

“Got it?”

“Yeah, just. Took all the skin off my hand,” Harry pants through gritted teeth. “Gimme a minute.”

There’s more tugging at his other hand, then the chain clangs and falls loose.

He can feel Harry stand up, round the chair. “All the skin”, might’ve been an exaggeration, but the back of Harry’s hand is indeed scraped raw and bleeding into his shirt where he’s cradling it to his chest. Harry falters when he sees him.

“Shit. Happy to report you look pretty terrible for once.”

“Just what a fella likes to hear. Can’t believe they didn’t even cuff you properly.”

“Luck, I guess.”

“More like nobody takes you seriously because of your idiot vibes.”

Harry huffs. “Hey. You could be nicer, I did just get my hand fucked up to get us out.”

“And you gave me some ugly-ass bruises that make me look like an idiot practicing unsafe BDSM, so nope, sorry.”

“See, I’m not gonna take that bait. Not a chance.” Harry crouches down to take a look at his cuffs. “Yep, that’s doable. Do you have a bobby pin maybe?”

“Do I _look_ like I-.”

“Okay, okay. Think I still got one of Harmony’s.”

He thought Harry doesn’t look so bad except for the hand; looking at him up close, he’s also got a split lip and a cut at his temple. Perry spends an inordinate amount of time watching a stray drop of blood slowly run down Harry's neck. Shakes his head. Of all the things. Of all the _people_ , fuck's sake.

Harry swears under his breath, fumbling with the cuffs. 

“Hurry up, would you,” Perry snaps weakly, failing to inject any actual bite into the tone.

“Em-pa-thy, Perry. I’m injured.”

“Empathy reserved for loss of limbs only, sorry.” Perry struggles to keep a straight face. “Ask me again when you lose another finger.”

“You know,” Harry jams the pin into the lock forcefully, smile in his voice, “maybe I should just leave-“

And then the door flies open with a bang.

Harry jumps up with the dumbest guilty expression, but Perry can’t throw any stones here, because all his brain helpfully supplies is a string of swear words. One of the bouncers from before stalks into the room and he grabs Harry by the shirtfront and shit, he’s got a gun.

Perry bites his lip, twists his wrist in the cuffs. He’s not a master lock picker, especially not on _himself_ , but Harry left the pin in the lock and maybe he can... The guy hits Harry across the face, Harry grabs the hand with the gun. Perry gets his thumb against the pin, tries to push it in and up, the way the lock seems to go. Harry twists the bouncer’s arm, they crash into the wall. Perry finally hears the lock crack, shakes off the cuffs, gets up, legs shaky for a moment, reaching for his gun that he belatedly realizes he doesn’t fucking have, and then there’s a shot. Both of them slump to the floor. Perry can’t quite stop himself from shouting.

“Shit, Harry! Harry?”

He stumbles over to the bodies, feeling faintly sick. The guy’s dead, judging by the mess of his neck; he shoves him to the side, off of Harry. Harry’s got his eyes closed. Shit. Perry reaches for his bloody hand, fumbles for his pulse – and then Harry blinks up at him blearily. Perry breathes out in a rush.

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ. Did you get hit?”

“Don’t think so,” Harry mumbles, struggling to get up on his elbows.

“No, stay put.” He passes a hand over the back of Harry’s head before pushing him down again. No blood, at least. Harry tries to move up again.

“Shit, no, what did I just say?” Perry pushes him back down. Harry blinks.

“We’re not leaving?”

Perry huffs. “Walk right out after we killed a guy? Sure.”

If nobody’s come running yet, it seems unlikely that anybody heard the shot. The godawful music’s proving useful for something. He still grabs one of the chairs and jams it under the door handle. Will buy them a few moments, at least. Then he pats down the body for a phone and walks around the room, searching for a signal. There’s not much of a difference anywhere. He sits down right next to Harry, then pulls off his jacket to put it under Harry’s head and almost hopes that Harry got hit so hard he won’t remember this later.

Harry grins up at him. “Aw, you care,” he mumbles.

“Nope, you’re hallucinating,” Perry replies curtly and presses call on 911.


	3. Chapter 3

Honestly, Perry’s always happy when he can sit back and let the police do the rest of the work. They get a once-over and Harry’s concussion is light enough that they’re carted off to the station immediately. Perry’s license once again works wonders for quick processing, but he has to wait for Harry long enough that he starts worrying Harry did something stupid again. Perry breathes a genuine sigh of relief when he finally reappears. Well, Harry’s not the kind of guy to give you a nice coherent statement when he’s normal. Much less concussed. Even just slightly.

Harry grins at him across the station and Perry suddenly remembers that they spent a solid couple of minutes making out earlier. Right. He gets a full-body shudder at the mere thought of that conversation.

The bartender gets hauled past in handcuffs just as Harry walks up to him.

“Well shit,” Harry says lightly, “actually liked that place.”

Right. Maybe they won’t have to talk about this after all.

“Pretty sure next bar you pick will crash and burn, too, chief. Just your vibe. How do you feel?”

“Oh, fine! Good. Great, actually!”

That’s a couple of adjectives too many. Then he sees Harry clutching a bottle of painkillers.

“Oh God, how many of these did you have?”

Harry looks down at the bottle like he forgot it was there.

“Um. Yeah. Good question.”

Fantastic. He’s got minutes before Harry will start crashing, hard. Painkillers and Harry do not mix well. Christmas was _nothing_.

He calls Harmony and her phone goes to voicemail three times, because of course it does.

“Hey, Harry?”

Harry hums, eyes already going that particular kind of glassy that tells Perry shit is about to go down if he doesn’t get Harry out of public spaces quickly enough.

“Know what friend Harmony’s with right now?”

“Nah.”

Perry sighs. And calls a cab. It’s an easy decision. Harry got hurt helping Perry and Perry…has absolutely nowhere else to be. The car is still parked where he left it before they went into the bar, he’s going to get it later. Whenever that will be. He puts his arm around Harry’s waist for good measure, because sometimes Harry starts saying stuff that's weird even by his own standards or breaking household appliances because he’s forgotten how they work – and sometimes Harry faceplants right onto the ground. You never know.

Harry talks through the whole ride, trying to retell the plot of the Dan Brown book for some reason. Perry hums whenever it feels appropriate, though he’s not sure Harry registers it. He pays for the cab, while Harry wanders off and he only has a second to be worried before he sees Harry sitting on the steps to their apartment building, head in his arms. Right. He goes back to worrying.

“Alright?”

“Yah. Jus’ need some air,” Harry mumbles.

“Okay.” Perry sits down next to him.

“Sorry,” Harry murmurs, “just hurt a lot. Don’t want you t’worry.”

“See, that’s easy. Get hurt less.”

“Tryin’ to. But you’re not here anyway, so s’not really your problem now.”

And he’s right. It’s not. It’s almost like Perry forgot that this is all on borrowed time, that Harry’s doing his own thing now and Perry’s going back to L.A. as soon as this case is wrapped up. Which it almost is.

“Missed you,” Harry adds then, a little quieter.

Perry lets out a breath.

“I bet you did.”

“’N you?”

_Fuck._

“My illogical color coding is absolutely heartbroken.”

Harry laughs sleepily, rests his head on Perry’s shoulder, face turned into the crook of Perry’s neck, breath puffing warm against his skin. Perry realizes he’s put his arm around Harry’s back on fucking instinct. God. He lets his hand drift up, feeling the warmth through the thin fabric of Harry’s shirt, pushes his thumb up along the stiff muscle in Harry’s neck. Harry lets out a small moan, a little too conscious to be asleep, too quiet to be fully awake.

Perry sighs, lets his hand drop, moves his shoulder.

 “Hey, Harry?” Harry lifts his head slowly, blinks up at him, eyes dark even when the porch light hits them, sluggish pupil response. “Better sleep inside? Actual bed and all that?”

Harry breathes in, rubs at his face, mumbles, “Kay.” He steadies himself on Perry’s shoulder as he gets up, fingertips digging in carelessly, and pads inside. Perry stares off into the dark for a second before it occurs to him to follow. Harry left the apartment door open behind him. Perry sighs and pushes it closed, hangs the keys up. Harry’s passed out on his bed, face down on top of the comforter, still wearing his grimy, bloody clothes. Oh well. At least he’s found his way to his own room and remembered to take off the shoes, which is a lot more than Perry would’ve expected from him in this state.

Perry tries calling Harmony again and finds her phone stuck between the couch cushions. How is she not actually related to Harry, for fuck’s sake? To be honest, he’s not as mad as he could be. He still has a few hours of wide-awake in him, and somehow staring at the wall of his hotel room trying to process everything doesn’t sound very appealing. Even if the alternative is staring at Harry’s and Harmony’s wall instead.

Thankfully there are quite a few options to run out of first. Perry gives his face a proper wash, makes himself some coffee with their shitty machine, rummages around the freezer for an ice pack, gets a bag of peas instead. Returns to the living room to look at their tiny bookshelf. They kept the goddamn Gossamer, with the bullet hole. Literally sitting by Harry’s bedside would be a bit of an overkill, but Perry keeps an eye on him through the open door from where he’s sitting on the couch, mindlessly flipping through the Gossamer, picking up a sentence or two in between. The reading experience is greatly improved by the bullet hole, which leads to some entertaining results when it hits just the wrong portion of the word or sentence. He tries for the Brown Harry’s left on the coffee table next and only manages a couple of pages before he starts getting a headache. Flipping ahead, he discovers that Harry likes to draw in his books, at least the non-vintage paperbacks. There are a lot of cats. They all sort of look the same.

Perry checks his watch, goes to pour a glass of water, then walks up to Harry, now lying on his side, one hand fisted in the comforter. Harry groans and pushes his face into the pillow when Perry shakes his shoulder. Perry keeps on shaking him, until Harry finally turns.

“How do you feel?”

“Uh. Fine, I guess?” Harry rubs at his eyes, props himself up on one elbow, yawns. He seems sleepy, but the kind of sleepy when Perry used to wake him up at the crack of dawn to go on a stake-out. Not the weird painkiller-induced kind of sleepy. Or the concussion kind of sleepy.

Perry hands him the water and Harry downs half the glass in one go.

“Now that you’re back in the land of the living, how about a change of clothes? Don't think you want that guy's blood all over your bed.”

 Harry makes a face. “Nah. I mean, I’ve already been lying here for, what?”

“Two hours.”

“Exactly, so- Wait. You’ve been here the whole time? Why?”

“So you don’t choke on your vomit in your sleep, idiot.”

Harry grins.

“So, you did miss me?”

Oh, fuck it. Perry sits down on the bed next to Harry, tries for a light tone.

“Sure. Think I let any idiot move into my house and mess up my work?”

“You’ll sure bring any idiot home.” Harry shrugs at Perry’s face. “What? Never liked any of them.”

“Well, good thing that’s none of your business anymore. Or ever has been, really,” Perry replies, maybe a little harsher than necessary. Harry looks down and Perry looks away and thinks that yeah, good job screwing this back up just before he’s leaving again and then –

“I liked kissing you,” Harry says quietly.

God. Trust Harry to go and say something like that. Perry passes a hand over his face. Winces when he brushes against a particularly painful spot. “And what now, chief?”

Harry shrugs, fiddles with the blanket.

“I mean, I’d like… again would be nice, but if you…Yeah.”

“That sentence is missing more words than it has in the first place,” Perry teases, half-heartedly. Harry doesn’t reply. Alright.

Thing is, Perry’s got standards (no matter Harry's opinion on that), but when he’s interested, he doesn’t tend to overthink it. Maybe this is one of those times he _should_ , because it’s Harry goddamn Lockhart and not some random guy at a bar. But old habits die hard, and some trains of thought are too fucking complicated when Harry’s right there, right next to him, bloodied and messed up and quiet, looking slightly scared and like there’s no way this could possibly go wrong at the same time and shit, he actually _likes_ Harry. He’s fucked people he liked a lot less than Harry. And so what if he hasn’t exactly been lying awake thinking about this? Right here, right now, he wants it, and fucked if he’s going to deny himself when Harry does, too.

So he relaxes the hand he hadn’t been realizing he’s been clutching into a fist - and puts it on Harry’s knee. Harry glances down and back up at him, eyes wide, and Perry only leans forward a fraction and Harry jumps him. There’s no other way to put it. Meets him more than halfway, gets up on his knees and closes almost all of the distance. 

It shouldn’t be dramatically different from a few hours ago, lip contact is lip contact. But it is, because Perry realizes that Harry had been holding _back_ , judging by the way he melts into him. His fingers curl around Perry’s shoulders again, the pressure a little sharper, a little more desperate. It takes Perry a couple of moments to realize that this is for real, that Harry’s kissing him because he _wants_ to and God yeah, that’s something else. He licks into Harry’s mouth; Harry makes a soft noise and opens up for him and Perry feels incredibly tempted to go rougher. But they’re both still too fucked up to take this there, so he slows down, fights the urge to bite Harry’s lip. He does pass his tongue over where it’s split, tasting salt, and feels Harry shudder against him.

Harry pushes his hand lower, dips under Perry’s shirt. Perry pulls away, somewhat startled, only to come back, only to kiss him again, a little softer now. He reaches for Harry’s hand, still kissing him, gently pushes it back up. Lifts his own hand, rests it on the back of Harry’s neck, thinks of how much he’d love to fist it in Harry’s hair, but not wanting to hurt him for real. He breaks away. Harry stares at him, breathing heavily…and blinking just a little too often. Perry pets his neck, watches his eyes flutter shut. He kisses Harry softly, on the corner of his mouth.

“Go to sleep, Harry,” he says, quietly.

Harry opens his mouth like he wants to protest; it turns into a yawn.

“Fair,” he mumbles. Gets under the covers right in his clothes. Closes his eyes. Then blinks up at Perry again.

“Not gonna pretend this didn’t happen tomorrow, right?”

Perry looks down at him.

“Less thinking. More sleep.”

“Kay,” Harry mumbles, closes his eyes.

Well.

Perry returns to the living room, feeling sort of lost. He cleans away the books. Puts back the half-melted peas, though they probably shouldn’t be refrozen anyway. He’s washing Harry’s glass and his coffee cup when he hears the tell-tale sound of keys in the door. He steps out of the kitchen and Harmony yelps, actually drops her purse.

“Holy fuck! Oh god, you scared the shit out of me.”

“My jacket _is_ hanging right there,” he points out. She shrugs, bends to pick up her purse.

“Too drunk for detecting work. Oh, shit, you look rough. What happened? Where’s Harry?”

“Sleeping off a concussion and meds. Mostly the meds.”

“Fuck.” She pulls a face. “You could’ve called.”

He throws her the phone. She catches it reflexively, frowns down on it.

“Shit, sorry. Harry’s rubbing off on me.” She walks past him into the kitchen, gets a beer from the fridge. Then turns to look at him, wrinkles her nose. “Hey, that was a great set-up and you didn’t take it. What’s wrong?”

He shrugs. “Shit case.”                     

“So spill. I mean, yeah, it _is_ ," she pauses to squint at her watch, "uh, 5am-“

“Exactly why I’ll get going now.”

“Alright.” She cracks the beer open on the edge of the counter. Follows him back to the hallway. “At least tell me how often Harry got hit on this time. We’ve got a ruthless betting pool at work and I’m determined to win.”

“Harry gets hit on?” Perry asks, nonchalantly.

“Yeah. Lots of creeps, though they’re trying to be real subtle about the snow in there. We look out for him though, don’t worry. And they’re not you anyway, so it’s not like Harry’s ever been interested.”

Perry almost drops his jacket.

“Shit, you _knew?_ ”

“About...what, exactly?”

“The _drugs_ ,” he groans. ”Harry. Everything.”

“Yes, yes and…yes? Wait.” She squints. “Did he make a move?”

“ _How?_ Has he told you?”

“Nope. But really, it’s pretty obvious. I mean, he never shuts up about you.”

Jesus Christ.

“So did he? Make a move.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“How about ‘not now’, Harmony?”

“Okay.”

“You’re not even going to push it?”

“Oh, I want to. But you did just spend the night babysitting my roommate for me, so that wouldn’t feel fair. Thanks, by the way.”

“Any fucking time,” Perry says, opens the door. “You live with Harry, I guess you can always use a break.”

“Eh, it’s not so bad,” she says, smiling. “As long as you’re not too attached to your food. Or your stuff. Or your sanity.”

He huffs. Sanity, indeed.

***

The client isn’t thrilled, to say in the least. Perry isn’t either. It’s a long pointless meeting that doesn’t lead anywhere other than that the case is done, whether she likes it or not. He’s happy to see that Harmony has texted him when he gets out in the early afternoon, though the message itself... well.

_Harry’s off work, front door’s open, you’re welcome._

He frowns down at his phone. 

_Do I get a say in this?_

Incoming call. He rejects it with a huff, texts, _Got it._

_You had better. Number 1 time not to be an asshole, go!!_

If there’s one thing he got right last night, it’s that Harry’s not some guy in a bar. Harry is serious. And not that Perry ever does serious, but if he’s going to start something here, it had better be right. And “right”, in this case, involves some heavy discussion over who lives where and what kind of future they can have. None of that is in his repertoire, usually. Then again, so used to be hiding bodies with strangers. Or letting them move in, afterwards.

Perry tells himself he’s got time to think it over. He’s got a feeling he’s already lost when he gets in the car.

Harmony wasn’t kidding about the door and Perry shakes his head at the security risk when he could’ve simply rung the bell. He lets himself in anyway. Harry is padding around the kitchen like he just woke up, coffee mug in one hand, cereal bowl in the other.

“Pretty sure coffee’s not what you want in your system right now.”

Harry whips around. Lights up. Then looks down, embarrassed.

“That’s hot chocolate,” he mutters, “Harmony…” He trails off. Looks at him with suspicion. “Okay, did I _dream_ that, because-“

Perry breathes out. And crosses the distance between them with long strides, takes the stuff from Harry’s hands, sets it on the kitchen island behind him and and kisses him, cradles his face between his hands, pushes him right back against the island. Harry grabs his shoulders. Of course he does.

“Well, uh- apparently not?” Harry pants when they separate, then grins. “Nice.”

Perry shakes his head. “Jesus Christ. Okay. Talk, now.”

So there’s no way to tie this up nice and proper. Perry won’t leave L.A. Harry offers to come back and Perry senses that he would, just for him. He can also sense that Harry doesn’t actually want to, for now anyway, so he tells him to stay. He’s not that kind of asshole.

Harry and Harmony drop him off at the airport the next day. Perry’s relieved that Harry doesn’t try to hold his hand, but he does kiss him in full view of TSA. Perry’s not sure if he should be impressed or horrified.

L.A. is a lot of the same old work. Perry does a few background checks, investigates insurance fraud, goes to a couple of parties and meets absolutely nobody interesting. He’s at another one of those when Harry calls him for the first time (from Harmony’s phone, of course). Perry debates leaving and, in the end, sits down in the corner with his drink, spends two hours ignoring everything and everybody in favor of Harry retelling him his retelling of the case to his coworkers. Harmony yells additions just out of earshot.

When he gets home, he buys a ticket back to Vegas in one week’s time.

***

Harry picks him up in Harmony’s car, which means he drove there. A somewhat disconcerting thought. At least he doesn’t fight Perry for the driver’s seat. He might have planned to take Harry somewhere nice (he’s heard people do that, not that he’s ever been particularly good at that part), but Harry’s fidgety, gaze dropping to his lips. It doesn’t take Perry long to give up and turn off to the hotel, where he, to his credit, does wait until the door of his room has closed behind them before he crowds Harry up against the wall. Harry swears a blue streak when Perry pushes his hand down his pants. God, he’ll never get tired of the way Harry melts into him whenever they kiss and now there are so many new things to consider and catalogue, the way Harry rests his forehead on Perry’s shoulder, the way Harry exhales in a moan when he comes. And the way he stares at him, wide-eyed, when Perry licks the come off his hand.

(He says he’d have thought Perry was too prissy to do that. Perry says that he’d rather have it in his mouth than on his clothes, which Harry pauses to consider for a moment. He doesn’t look thrilled, but not as grossed out as Perry might’ve thought either. And when Perry leans in to kiss him afterwards, Harry doesn’t flinch back.)

The next day, Harry takes him to Sunset Park, which is probably as peaceful as this city ever gets, despite the hordes of joggers passing every other second.

“Vegas isn’t all plastic, you know?” Harry says, grinning, and Perry huffs.

“I dunno, that grass still looks pretty plastic-y to me.”

Harry smiles, squinting against the sun. Perry picks a piece of tinsel out of his hair; Harry leans into the touch and turns to kiss his wrist and it’s one of the corniest fucking moments Perry’s ever experienced. He tries not to dwell too much on how he enjoys it. When they get back to the hotel, Perry fucks Harry into the mattress, slowly and forcefully, almost makes him cry before he lets him come. After, Harry’s most embarrassed about the scratches he’s left on Perry’s back, blushing and muttering how he thinks that’s kind of girly. Perry thinks of a dozen snarky things to say to that, bites his tongue and offers to give him some too, instead. Harry blushes more.

They meet Harmony for breakfast in the hotel restaurant and she beams and loudly declares that they both look fucked out. Harry chokes on his waffles, which turns almost as many heads as the initial statement and Perry can't help but grin while he pats Harry's back.

It’s a bit harder to go away after this. Perry racks up a lot of miles on his airline pass, though with the comparably short distance it’ll probably still take him years to get any rewards. He never learns to like Vegas more. Still hates the dry air, the plastic sheen on everything. He likes the way Harry’s happy here. That’s different. Harmony doesn’t pester him much, but then if Harry does indeed “never shut up about him”, she probably doesn’t have to. She tells him about her dates instead. Perry concludes that Vegas trumps L.A. when it comes to sheer weirdness. She also tells him that Harry calls him his boyfriend behind his back, which makes Perry cringe, but well. He knew what he was signing up for. Or who.

Harry returns to L.A. for the first time a few months later, when he gets a tiny part on CSI Vegas. It's filmed at Universal, because of course it is (Harmony pretends to be jealous, but only briefly; she’s too busy auditioning for other theaters to keep up the act). Perry picks Harry up at the airport at five in the goddamn morning, because that’s the kind of shit he apparently does for people now. They drive straight to the studio with the top of the car down, Harry blinking up at the discolored sky and passing palm trees and murmuring about missing the ocean though they’re not driving anywhere near the actual coast, and Perry feels something inside him twist up painfully. Fuck's sake.

He may have pulled a few strings to get on set in some sort of vaguely official capacity, though it’s not the kind of thing he'd usually consult on. For the first time, Perry notices how differently Harry carries himself these days, how he talks to people, standing his ground because he knows why he’s there and what he’s got to do. Though he still absolutely fiddles with tech he shouldn’t touch when he gets bored during the breaks.

Perry goes to the office to make a call right after they come home. When he gets back downstairs, Harry’s making himself a sandwich with the peanut butter Perry put out on the counter that morning because, well, Harry likes the stuff, sue him. Harry licks the knife and sticks it right back into the jar and God yeah, that’s how he’s always been, chaotic and illogical and annoying, and Perry feels the sudden urge to walk up and put his arms around him. He doesn’t.

Harry looks up from the plate. Sees him. Smiles. And comes closer, fucking cuddles up to him.

“Miss me?” he asks, licking peanut butter off his thumb, and Perry doesn’t feel like he needs to answer that. He puts his arm around Harry’s back instead, thumbs at the sliver of skin between shirt and waistband, listens for the inevitable hitch of breath.

“So move the office to Vegas,” Harry says, smiling, coloring with the beginnings of a blush. He’s said it a couple of times. He’s never really meant it.

“Fuck no,” Perry huffs, pulls Harry in and kisses him and thinks that honestly, he can’t tell what he wouldn’t do for Harry anymore.

It’s going to take them a while to figure this out. But well, Perry never saw himself settling down anyway. So maybe it’s quite fitting that the way he ended up doing just that barely involves any settling at all. At least for now. For now, it’s somehow even sweeter that he can’t have this every night, that it takes time and effort to just be able to have Harry like this, curled up against him. Perry takes far too long just running his hands down Harry’s back and holding him close and no doubt it's all pretty obvious, whether he says it out loud or not. And for what's probably the first time ever, Perry can’t quite bring himself to care about that, lets himself get lost in the moment instead.


End file.
